The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “Let me discuss it with my father and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dr. Stein replied. “I was actually on my way to see Jo.”

  “Eh, Dr. Stein. May I ask you for a favor?” Quinn said. She felt embarrassed to ask, but simply couldn’t put this off any longer.

  “Of course. How can I help?”

  “I think I might be pregnant,” Quinn blurted out. “And I need to know for sure.”

  A knowing smile tugged at Dr. Stein’s lips. “Don’t worry, I know the feeling. When you realize you might be pregnant, you can’t wait another minute to find out. I’ll ask one of the nurses to get you a pregnancy test. I can refer you to an obstetrician here at the hospital, if you wish, or you can wait until you get home and can see your own doctor.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

  Less than five minutes later, Quinn found herself tensely watching the plastic stick. She went to the public restroom instead of using the one in Jo’s room. For this, she needed privacy, and a few moments to recover, whatever the result. Quinn leaned against the wall of the stall and willed the test to work faster. She couldn’t take the uncertainty any longer. She held her breath as the symbol in the little screen began to materialize. It was too soon to tell what it was, but in about a minute she’d know if her life was about to change once again.

  A pink minus filled the tiny window, and Quinn breathed a sigh of intense relief. Not pregnant. Perhaps her symptoms were caused by all the stress she’d been experiencing the past few weeks and weaning Alex off breastmilk. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. She hadn’t realized just how frightened she’d been it would be positive. She wanted to have another baby, sooner rather than later, but not in seven months’ time. Alex and Emma needed her full attention, and she and Gabe were still figuring out how to maintain the delicate balance between being parents and partners. Neither of them was ready for another high-risk pregnancy or a difficult post-natal period.

  Quinn threw the test away, washed her hands and face, and let herself out of the bathroom. Now that she could think more clearly, she had a road trip to plan.

  Chapter 66

  March 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Mary rose laboriously from her pallet, got dressed, and reached for her comb. She wound her braid around several times and pinned it into place before covering her hair with a cap. It was time to get breakfast going. She stretched her aching back and tiptoed toward the hearth, mindful of waking Dr. Paulson. The room was almost completely dark, and Mary banged her knee on a bench on her way to the hearth. She stifled a cry and hobbled over to the shelf where the tinder and flint box were kept. It took a while to get the fire going, but once it took hold, Mary stood before the hearth for a few moments, warming herself. The weather was pleasant during the day, but the nights were still cold, and the glazed windows of the doctor’s surgery were covered with a thin layer of frost. Mary added a bit of water to the congealed porridge left over from the day before and set it over the flames to warm. Having done that, she threw a shawl over her shoulders and let herself out of the house. She needed to use the privy desperately.

  By the time she returned, Dr. Paulson was already up and dressed. He sat at the table, looking morosely into the flames. “I heard you weeping last night,” he said without any preamble.

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed your rest, sir,” Mary replied.

  “It is I who am sorry. You have every right to weep for your husband.”

  “I weep for the man I loved,” Mary corrected him.

  Dr. Paulson nodded, taking her meaning. He never asked any questions or passed judgement on her. He was a kind man, one who understood the complexities of the human heart. Had it not been for him, she’d still be in that stinking shed, freezing, and starving half to death, but no amount of kindness could heal her heart. She grew more and more despondent as the days went by. She tried to hide her grief from the doctor, but when night came and she was alone in her dark corner, memories of Walker flooded her mind and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle her crying. She felt the loss of him keenly, and the pain of his death gnawed at her insides every day.

  She went out to fetch the water, did the laundry outside, and peeked out the window a hundred times a day in the hope of spotting visiting Indians. If she saw Walker’s companions, she’d go up to them and ask outright what had become of Walker’s remains. She needed to know that he was at peace and not rotting somewhere in the woods, his body devoured by animals, his bones sinking into the softening earth. But no one came. The incident had fanned the flames of resentment between the natives and the colonists, and trade seemed to have virtually come to a halt until goodwill could be restored.

  “We are to leave shortly,” Dr. Paulson announced as he spooned porridge into his mouth.

  “Are we?”

  “A ship was spotted on the horizon yesterday. It might be with us as soon as today.”

  “Will it?” Mary whispered. She’d known this day would come, but now that it was upon them, she was completely unprepared. She rested her hand on her stomach. It had grown bigger over the past few weeks and the baby was more active, cavorting inside her day and night and making her belly heave like a restless sea. Mary was frightened of the coming birth, but she looked forward to meeting her child. She would no longer be alone. They would be each other’s family, each other’s support. She would do anything to give her baby a good life, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness and well-being. She tried not to envision what her life might have been like had she left with Walker when he’d first asked.

  Oh Walker, what a fool I was not to go with you, Mary thought. I’d give anything in the world to hear your voice again and feel your arms around me. Please, come to me, if only in my dreams, she begged silently. Let me see your face one more time.

  By the following day, the new arrivals had begun to trickle in—tired, bedraggled women who looked grateful to be on solid ground again and terrified of what awaited them in this colonial paradise, as Mary and her companions had been when they arrived nearly a year ago. John’s body had been cut down and buried. After all, it wouldn’t do to greet newcomers with a rotting corpse.

  Exited bridegrooms had already gathered at the church, eager to meet their future wives. Mary could see Dr. Paulson through the window, conversing with a finely dressed middle-aged gentleman who must be the new physician, come to take his place. Soon, crates and sacks would get carried up to the settlement: tools, supplies, and letters from home, eagerly received and much discussed.

  Mary turned away from the window and sat down on the bench. If only she could talk to someone besides the doctor, but she had been banned from church, and wasn’t permitted to walk outside. She hoped Nell and Betsy might come to see her, but the marshal had forbidden them to visit and she doubted he’d changed his mind.

  Mary sat at the table and rested her head on her folded arms as silent tears flowed. She felt so frightened and alone now that she was truly on the verge of the unknown. A kick from within startled her out of her misery. Then another. It was as if the baby were telling her that she wasn’t alone. It was there, just waiting to be born. Mary used the back of her hand to wipe her tears and sat up. “I’m sorry,” she said to her belly. “I will be stronger. I promise.”

  She pushed her despair aside and got started on her afternoon chores. The new physician would stay with Dr. Paulson until his departure, so she had to make sure there was enough stew to go around. She added a few more sliced root vegetables to the pot and pushed a baking dish filled with cornbread dough into the ashes at the side of the hearth. Having seen to dinner, she prepared fresh linens to make up a bed for the new doctor, dusted the vials and jars containing various roots and potions, and then went to fetch some water. The new man would be wanting a bath after his long sea voyage.

  Mary tried not to look toward the dock as she fetched the water, but her eyes had a mind of their own. She set the bucket on th
e ground and stared off into the distance. All she could see over the curtain wall and the treetops were the tall masts of the newly arrived ship, the middle mast flying a British flag. By this time next week, the ship might be ready to return to England, taking her away from these shores forever.

  Chapter 67

  The day was heartbreakingly beautiful. A gentle sun shone from a benevolent sky and a gentle breeze brought the smell of spring, of things growing and bursting into life. Mary stood on deck, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The hustle and bustle of loading the vessel and preparing for departure had been replaced by crisp commands from the captain as the ship glided away from the dock. It would cruise along the James River before heading out into the Atlantic Ocean and sailing to England.

  Mary stared toward Jamestown, an oppressive heaviness in her chest. She no longer belonged to this place, but England felt as distant and foreign to her as the shores of Africa. The future seemed utterly bleak, and even the baby in her belly seemed to be affected by her mood. It had remained quiet and still since Mary boarded the ship. Maybe the rolling of the deck beneath her feet had put the child to sleep. Mary rested her hand on her belly, wishing the babe would wake up. She felt unbearably alone, and even the slightest movement would remind her that life still had something to offer and this wasn’t the end.

  The ship moved slowly down the center of the river. Through the still-bare trees, Mary caught glimpses of brown fields and wooden cabins, blue-gray smoke curling from their chimneys into the cloudless sky. After a time, the plantations gave way to unsettled wilderness. The woods became dense and impenetrable, the only signs of life the squawking birds that perched high in the branches. Mary leaned on the rail and peered into the trees when she spotted movement on the shore. A man hobbled out of the woods and stopped to watch the passing ship, his hand pressed to his side, as if he were in pain. He wore buckskin breeches and a shirt, his feet in moccasins. His dark-brown hair rippled in the breeze, and the beads he wore around his neck were blue and red.

  Their eyes met and Mary let out an involuntary cry. Walker looked pale and thin, and lines of pain were carved into his hollow cheeks, but his eyes were just the same, the eyes that loved her. His gaze was full of despair and disbelief when he realized that Mary was lost to him forever. Walker raised a hand in farewell, then laid it over his heart, his gaze never leaving her face.

  Mary was too far away to see clearly, but she thought he was weeping, and tears of bitterness and unbearable hurt spilled down her cheeks as she looked upon his beloved face for the last time. His people had saved him and brought him back from the brink of death. He still loved her. He would have come for her. They could have been a family. But now it was too late. They would never meet again, of that she was certain. Even if someday she managed to find her way back to Virginia, he could be long gone, returned to his own tribe and wed to a woman who was glad to walk along his divided path.

  Mary stared at the shore until Walker faded from view, the place where he stood becoming a smudge on the horizon. Mary cried out as something soft rubbed against her legs and bent down to pick up a cat. It was smoky gray with a white patch on its throat, and she held it to her bosom, grateful for another living thing to share her sorrow with.

  Chapter 68

  March 2015

  Near the French Border

  A shimmering purple dusk descended over the snowbound landscape, the windows of picturesque cottages set back from the road glowing warmly in the gathering darkness. There were few motorists on the road and the car chewed up the miles as it sped toward England. Seth had taken one look at the tiny yellow Fit and pronounced it unfit (no pun intended, he’d assured the women) for the drive to England. He’d rented a BMW SUV that was roomy and comfortable.

  Jo, who sat in front next to Seth, had been animated for the first few hours of the journey, but now her head rested against the reclined seat, her eyes closed in deep sleep. She was bundled up in warm clothes and wore a dark-blue knitted hat, which had accentuated her extreme pallor when they stepped out of the hospital into the blinding brightness of the snowy morning. Quinn had been pleased to notice that a little color had crept into her cheeks after they’d stopped at a rest area to get some tea and use the restroom. Jo had asked to spend a few minutes outside, enjoying the sun on her face as she leaned against the car. She hadn’t been outdoors since the day she got hurt and the fresh air was doing her good. She’d picked up a handful of snow and made a snowball, weighting it in her hand as if she were planning to hurl it at someone. Instead, she’d pressed it to her lips and grinned like a mischievous child when it began to melt.

  “Would you like me to take a turn?” Quinn asked Seth. “You must be tired.”

  “Give me another half hour and then you can take over. I don’t like driving in the dark. My eyesight’s not what it used to be,” Seth replied.

  “I think we should stop for the night around seven. Jo needs rest and a decent meal. She barely ate anything when we stopped for lunch.”

  “I won’t say no to a decent meal myself. I hate fast food,” Seth agreed.

  Quinn smiled. Seth loved good food and all manner of comforts. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed “slumming it,” as he put it.

  “Want a Coke?” Seth asked. “There’s one left.”

  “No, I’m all right. You have it.”

  Seth opened the can and took a long swallow. “I know soda’s bad for you, but I just can’t resist. There’s nothing like a cold Coke when you’re thirsty and tired. I’m not much used to driving on icy roads.” His profile was tense as he gripped the wheel, wary of hitting an invisible patch of black ice.

  “Quinn, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Seth said. His voice was low so as not to disturb Jo, but Quinn could hear the sudden intensity in his tone. Whatever he wanted to tell her was important.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “Kathy and I hired a crack-shot criminal attorney. She’s going to file an appeal for Brett. There are certain issues in the case that bear scrutiny.”

  “Brett locked me in a vault and left me to die. Is that one of the issues you hope she’ll scrutinize?” Quinn asked, angry despite herself.

  “What Brett did is unforgivable, but he’s very young, Quinn. I won’t allow him to spend the best years of his life in prison. I’m his dad. I have to do everything in my power to help him.”

  “So, you hope to get him off on a technicality?” Quinn asked bitterly.

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “And what technicality would that be?”

  “I beat a confession out of him. Ms. Jackson says it should never have stood up in court.”

  Quinn felt a cold rage at the thought of her half-brother walking free after serving only a few months of his sentence but said nothing. She could sense Seth’s nervousness. He’d been keeping this from her for a while. “You must do what you feel is right.”

  “Would you abandon Alex?” Seth asked.

  Quinn was about to reply but paused. Would she? Alex was only five months old, so it was difficult to imagine him as an adult, especially one with criminal tendencies, but Seth’s question was legitimate. She loved both Alex and Emma with her whole being and the thought of turning her back on them in their hour of need went against the grain. Would she be able to still love a child who’d tried to kill someone, in this case a pregnant woman and a half-sister? Would she be able to forgive Alex if he’d tried to kill Emma? No, she wouldn’t forgive him, but she would not abandon him either. Seth was right—Brett was still young. He was only nineteen. There was still a chance for him to turn his life around. He wasn’t a hardened criminal, just a foolish young man who’d allowed his prejudices and fears to rule his head.

  They’d shared a bond and had been on the verge of establishing a solid relationship when he’d turned on her. What would have happened had Quinn never told him the truth and threatened to expose their shared history on her television program? What if Brett had never discover
ed they were descended from a Trinidadian slave? His prejudice and fear had driven him over the edge, but was she partly to blame for what happened? Would Brett be here right now, come to meet his other sister, if Quinn had never stumbled on the truth about Madeline?

  Quinn sighed. The situation wasn’t as black and white (no pun intended, Quinn thought with a smirk) as she liked to believe, and Seth could hardly disown his son, the only child he’d known since birth and raised in a way he’d hoped had been right. What would her grandmother Rae advise her now if she were still alive? Quinn had met the old woman only twice, but Rae had left an impression on her, and she wished she’d had an opportunity to get to know her paternal grandmother better.

  “Seth, are you asking for my permission to appeal the case?” Quinn asked at last.

  “No, but I am asking for your understanding. I love you, Quinn, and I would give my life to keep you and yours safe, but Brett is my son—my teenage son. He deserves another chance, and I will do everything in my power to give it to him. I would like to know that I have your blessing to try.”

  “I’m not sure I can give you my blessing, but I do understand where you’re coming from, as a parent. I would do the same for one of my children. I won’t hold it against you, Seth, but I don’t think I can be in the same room with Brett ever again.”

  “I would never ask that of you, but he is sorry, Quinn. He truly is. Have you read the letter he sent you?”

  Quinn shook her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

  “Read it. Please.”

  “Seth, no amount of remorse can undo what Brett’s done. Another few hours in that vault and I would have miscarried Alex. I might have survived, but I would have lost my baby. I’m sure Brett believes he had good reason to do what he did. I realize that having grown up in the South, his prejudices run deep, and his fears were legitimate in his mind, but I simply cannot offer him forgiveness. I’m not that generous of spirit.”